


Hard Bargain

by plothound



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, Ball Growth, Come Inflation, Demon Sex, Demons, Foot Massage, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Large Cock, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Play, Prostate Growth, Prostate Massage, Ritual Sex, Small Penis, Urethral Play, cock growth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 10:56:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14747531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plothound/pseuds/plothound
Summary: A dissatisfied squire has a chance encounter alone on the road, one that turns into something completely unexpected.





	Hard Bargain

Squire kicked moodily at the path. His feet in their ill-fitting hide shoes were already sore, and the kick did not relieve their discomfort in the slightest. That had not been the point of the exercise. The point was that he had been trekking all day, in the heat, on a dusty road, carrying a message for his lord, Sir Thryston of Revverston, who couldn’t be bothered to provide so much as a donkey to help Squire in getting all the way to bloody Whitby, and it was going to be another full day before he got there, and he was sick and tired of it all.

 

Sir Thryston wasn’t a cruel man, really. When he got right down to it, Squire knew he’d been lucky. He could’ve ended up like poor Wik, who he only saw once or twice a year, and who looked more gaunt and deathly every time. He also could’ve ended up like Alvey, who had been taken on by a knight who lived right in London, in the court of the king, and who was now tall and muscular and a fine rider and swordsman and accustomed to dressing in fine wools. 

 

But he hadn’t. He’d been prenticed to Sir Thryston, and while Thryston didn’t care enough about Squire to beat him or deprive him or anything, he certainly didn’t care enough to make Squire’s life any more pleasant than it absolutely had to be. Squire’d been five when his parents had died of plague back in Helmsly, and he’d been sent to Revverston to be taken in by someone there, and it had happened that Thryston needed a squire. The knight, who’d been hardly older then than Squire was now, had seen little Conn of Helmsly, had him lift a few heavy stones, nodded in approval, and had barked, “Quick now, then, squire.” No one had called Squire anything other than that since, and it had been more than a decade.

 

The sun was setting. Squire glared at it for a moment, then made a rude gesture and headed off the path a ways to find a place to pitch his tent, which wasn’t anything more than a blanket to drape over a rope strung between trees, and had to be weighed down by stones because Squire didn’t have any pegs, not even a whittle-knife to cut and carve some with.

 

There was also the matter of bedding with Thryston. The knight didn’t seem to have any affection for women—he courted them now and then, but Squire knew it was only to keep up appearances—and he made up the lack by touching himself at night, extensively. When Squire had grown old enough to feel his own stirrings and dirty a sheet or two of his own, Thryston had pulled him over to join. 

 

Instead of being exciting, that had just turned out to be more work. Thryston was choosy with how Squire used his hands, and when he’d introduced Squire to the use of a mouth, he’d grown even more choosy. Squire had once asked petulantly why he had to do all the work, why Thryston never touched him, and the big, muscular knight, sprawled on his bedroll and holding Squire’s head by his thigh, had casually said, “Biggest cock wins,” and pushed said cock into Squire’s mouth.

 

Squire hadn’t really thought about it before that moment, but ever since then, he’d taken careful note of the cock of every man he could, taking quick glances while bathing or eyeing bulges with a calculating eye, and he’d come to the horrifying conclusion that he was  _ small.  _ His own cock was no longer than his index finger soft, though substantially thicker, and things weren’t much better when it was hard. Not to mention that his balls were hardly a swelling at his base. It was a nightmare. He was  _ never  _ going to have the biggest cock. No matter what man he ran into, it was going to be him doing all the work, always. No one was going to sully their mouths with his little cock. Except women, he supposed, but he didn’t much care about women—was that Thryston’s fault, he wondered? Another thing to resent his master for. 

 

He was busy heating a bit of wine—Thryston was heir to a great many vineyards of middling quality, which was really the only distinct benefit of being his squire—in a pot over a campfire when he heard someone shuffling through the grass to his camp. He stood quickly and picked up his staff. It was a meager thing, just a branch he’d found years ago with the twigs broken off and a bit of fabric wrapped round the middle, but it could hurt someone, surely.

 

An old man in ragged clothes, bent over with the weight of a great, bulging pack, separated himself from the gloom as he trudged toward the fire. When he was quite near, he lifted his head—wrinkly, bony, and weathered—and asked in a quavery old voice, “May I sit by your fire, child?”

 

Squire eyed him for a time, gauging his strength, and decided that even if the old man decided to pull something, Squire could probably send him quite speedily on his way to hell. “As you will, grandfather.”

 

The man seated himself on a fallen log with many a cracking and snapping of joints and a deep, aged groan. He peeled off his back and let it thunk to the ground before rolling his narrow shoulders. “Any chance of wine?”

 

Squire glanced at the pot. He had more than enough, really. “Sure.” He retrieved the pot and passed it and the dipper to the old man, who blew and sipped gratefully.

 

“Oh, I’m more grateful for that than I can say,” he said with a sigh. He passed it back to Squire, who drank cautiously, not taking his eyes off the old man. “Troubled times, these are, and there’s not many who’d share a vintage with an old traveller.”

 

“What’s your business, grandfather?” Squire asked, deciding that he ought to be polite, all things being equal.

 

The man pushed a shock of gray-white hair out of his eyes. “This and that. I tinker, sell herbs, poultices, patch up a cut or two now and then. Enough to keep me fed and watered, if not as well and frequently as I should like.”

 

“Oh, aye?” Squire said, perking up. “Have you any remedies for sore feet?”

 

“Naturally, naturally. I’ve a balm, to be mixed with water and rubbed into the soles at night, and your feet shall feel quite fine come the morrow, child.” The old man opened up his pack and began to sift through it. From within came the clinking of bottles and the shuffling of papers, and Squire watched with greater and greater interest as the man sank past his elbows into the great pack.

 

“What all is in there?” he asked eventually.

 

The old man triumphantly withdrew an oilcloth pouch. “A balm for the feet,” he said, sounding satisfied. “Wax and sage and sheep’s milk and more, all mixed by a proper herbalist, ready to restore your fine young feet to greatness.” He drew a waterskin from his belt and beckoned Squire to come over. When Squire was situated on the log next to him and had put a bare, blistered foot in his lap, the man dripped some water into the pouch, mixed, and began to smear an unpleasant-smelling yellowish substance on the heel. “Any number of cures, really. I cater to country folk, with cough-cures and balms and sundry medicines for their beasts, but I keep a stock of rarer things as well, for my visits to towns.”

 

“Such as what?” Squire asked. The firm movement of the gnarled, skilled fingers on his feet was remarkably soothing, though his blisters burned and his tendons were stiff. 

 

“Well, I’ve a poultice for inflammations there, the sort a man will gain from a battle-wound, and I keep dressings for the wound itself as well, to promote the knitting. Potions to soothe the stomach, draughts for balancing the humors, and of course soothing creams for those diseases of the bed.”

 

“Diseases of the—oh.” Squire knew a man could take ill if he did foul things with a woman. He rather thought he was safe with Thryston, who seemed unlikely to bed a woman anytime soon.

 

The old man looked up from his foot and winked at him. “I’ve cures for other concerns of the bed, as well. Concoctions for the man who cannot keep his staff straight, and for the woman who no longer slicks as she once did. Men and women alike pay good silver for both.”

 

“What about—” Squire cut himself off before he could sound a fool.

 

“What is it, lad?” the old man said. “Having trouble with your maiden?” He sounded amused, but sympathetic, and Squire felt strangely moved to confide in him.

 

“It’s my parts,” he admitted. “They’re—I think their size ought to be greater.”

 

The old man smiled. “A complaint of every man I’ve ever known,” he said. “And I should be quite the fool to brew nary a potion for it, when knights and lords, and indeed kings, will willingly part with their finest gold for but a chance at wielding a larger instrument.”

 

“So you have something?” Squire said in some surprise.

 

“Oh, aye,” the old man said, switching to the other foot. “I’ve a dozen brews that I hint may make a man’s staff more sizeable, but I make no promises, and they do very little. The rich pay regardless.”

 

“Oh,” Squire said. He had hoped, there, for a moment… 

 

“But,” the man continued, “I am always experimenting. Never grow too satisfied, boy, never lose the drive to improve. I do have a new potion which I think may improve the organs. How much, I cannot say, nor even whether it will truly work, but should you wish to test it, I would not think to charge you for so small a chance.”

 

Squire thought on that for a time. “But it could work?” he said eventually.

 

“Of course,” the man said, frowning at a particularly large blister. “It could work, or it could do nothing. It will do no harm, of that much I am certain.”

 

“Then I’ll try it.” It seemed obvious to him. He might walk away with the same cock as before, or he might walk away with a bigger one than Thryston. Neither would damage anything.

 

“You’re certain? You realize it may do nothing at all?”

 

“Aye,” Squire said. A thought struck him suddenly. “It won’t hurt, will it?”

 

“Oh, no,” the old man reassured him. “It will not hurt.”

 

“Good,” Squire said, relieved. “Do you have all you need?”

 

“Aye, aye, let me finish your feet first,” the old man chuckled. “The young are so terribly eager and impatient. You’ll not back out, you give me your word? Once I begin, I should not stop halfway through.”

 

“You’ve my word.”

 

“Excellent, excellent. Your name, child?”

 

“Just Squire.”

 

“Well, then, just Squire, I’ll do my best to grow your parts.” He patted Squire’s foot with ancient fingers. “Shuck your garments, then, I must see what I’m about.”

 

Squire stood and began to slip out of his chausses and tunic. His shirt came off quickly as well, and though he hesitated a little before he dropped his breeches, he did it eventually, baring himself to the old man. It didn’t matter what his cock looked like now, he told himself fiercely. It could well be bigger soon.

 

“There, then,” the old man said. He sounded pleased. Then, before Squire could stop him, he reached out and put his own hand in the fire. 

 

Squire yelled in surprise and lunged forward to pull him back, but the man was closing his eyes with a sigh of pleasure, clearly unbothered by the flames licking at his flesh, and his fingers weren’t burning away. They looked quite untouched.

 

“Witch,” Squire breathed. “You’re a witch.”

 

“Of course not,” the old man said lazily. He withdrew his hand from the flame and blinked three times in quick succession. 

 

The old man began to change before Squire’s eyes. The wrinkles sluiced away, filling in with tightening skin, hair shrinking back into the skull, and form increasing greatly in bulk. The ragged old clothes were drawn taut over muscles that bulged out over a growing frame. The cotte was the first to go, splitting its rough seams along the shoulders and sides, followed quickly by the shirt beneath it, though not before two thick, peaked nipples made themselves well known through it. The skin beneath was flushing redder and redder, until it was well clear of any human shade, but Squire’s attention was glued to the crotch of the breeches, revealed by the loss of the upper garments. 

 

The fabric there, undyed linen, was bulging out obscenely. The breeches held out, even as the chausses split along thighs and calves swelling with thick slabs of muscle, despite the increasing absurdity of what lay behind them. The cloth strained and strained as the thing’s genitals grew, packed into a tighter and tighter space while the breeches struggled to contain them. 

 

The seams of the breeches finally split as the thing’s hindquarters bloated into a great, powerful ass, and the beast swept them away and got to its feet. What had shortly before been an old, bent-backed man was now a hulking, hairless creature, some seven feet tall and muscled beyond anyone or anything Squire had ever seen. Thick, curving horns sprouted from its bare skull. It was also nude, which allowed something about as long as Squire’s forearm and significantly thicker to swing between its legs, curved over a pair of balls that would have looked obscene on a horse.

 

“Oh, God,” Squire whispered. “Jesus, Mary, Joseph, Peter, Simon, uh—” Oh, Christ on the cross, he couldn’t remember the names of the apostles. Archangels, he knew the archangels. “Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, please, please, please—”

 

“None of that,” the demon—that was what it was, there was not the faintest doubt in his mind about that—said with a laugh that sounded like it was coming out of a great echoey barrel. “They’re not listening to you, lad, and besides, we’ve an agreement. Not God himself could help  you once you’ve an agreement with me.”

 

“Who are you?” Squire whispered.  _ God help me, God help me, God help me. _

 

“No one of an excess of consequence,” the demon chuckled. “Arzaeus, I’m called. Summoned, I was, by some fool, centuries and centuries ago, stuck here ever since. But I’m only a few bargains away from returning home, and I’ve never failed to make a bargain.” His chuckle boomed into a roar of laughter. “If there’s one thing, across all this foul earth, that’ll guarantee an agreement, it’s if you promise to give a man a bigger cock. Not a one’s ever said no once he knows it can be, not the meanest peasant or purest knight. Don’t feel too bad about yourself, lad, greater men than you have been persuaded with less.”

 

He crouched down over Squire, who hadn’t noticed that he’d fallen over and was huddled against a rock outcropping. “Now, I’ve made an agreement, so let’s see what can be done about that undersized little cock of yours.”   

 

“No,” Squire whispered. “No, no, no, God, please, let me go.”

 

A great red hand with vast, powerful fingers gripped his small hands and pulled them out of the way. “I told you to hush that, lad. Come on, then.” He took Squire’s cock between two fingers and began to stroke it firmly. With his other hand, he squeezed his own, which twitched in response. A thick vein, the size of Squire’s little finger, squirmed down the side of it, and it pulsed in time with the cock. Arzaeus rubbed his thumb over the great, fat head, flat like a horse’s, and began to move quickly. The demon’s cock required little encouragement to swell up and out into an even more monstrous creation, lengthening immensely, the head flaring and bulging, but Squire’s was remaining resolutely soft, his small balls drawn up in terror.

 

Arzaeus sighed. “Fine. You fancy doing this soft? It can be done, little one, though it’ll not be nearly so fun.” He pressed the tips of their cocks together, fitting the head of Squire’s into the divot of his own, where a winking hole dripped a thick, slippery fluid. He held his vast, throbbing member with one hand, keeping it steady, and with the other, squeezed Squire’s cock up against that hole.

 

“No,” Squire whimpered. His voice shamed him. “That’s not possible.”

 

“It’s been some time,” Arzaeus said pleasantly, “but I’ve done it with far larger cocks than yours, lad.” He continued to drive them together, and the pressure grew. But the hole was too small, Squire could see that. Neither of them were blind, surely. You couldn’t  _ fit  _ something inside a cock, not even a cock like the monstrous one hanging off of this demon, and even if you could, it would have to be… a reed, or something, not  _ another cock.  _ That was  _ not possible.  _

 

Then he felt just the slightest give. It was hardly there at all, but it made something in his guts squirm violently, and he felt his own member begin to thicken. It was still impossible, Squire was no fool, but the very idea of a hole, sweet and tight and private, trying to spread open for him, straining to accommodate his meager size, trying to invite him in, made heat bloom in his groin.

 

“There, then,” Arzaeus said approvingly. “Not so bad after all, lad?”

 

“It’s not going to fit,” Squire whispered. “‘M not going to fit in you.”

 

Arzaeus laughed. “News to me, lad.” He pushed harder, and Squire moaned as he felt the flesh of the demon’s cock straining beneath him, his own cock digging deeper into the demon’s bulging head. The hole was smearing Squire’s cock with slick, trying uselessly to lubricate it enough to squeeze in. Squire hardened further at the thought. He was pressed up against a hole, and that hole could never accommodate his size. He was too big, but the flaring hole was trying anyway.

 

The very tip of his cock pressed into the hole, and he cried out. It was nothing, nothing, less than half a finger’s width of the head of his cock somehow jammed into the demon’s piss slit, but it was  _ everything.  _ He could feel the rim of the hole now, pulsing and throbbing and sucking and straining, squeezing abominably tight at him, trying desperately to take him in, stretched to the absolute limit around the intrusion. “Oh, God! Oh, Christ!”

 

Arzaeus’s laughter boomed around him. “I can attest, lad, they never did anything like what you’re doing now. Nowhere near. Now  _ hush,  _ and push.”

 

Squire did. He made no conscious decision to slide his hips forward and press himself harder against the cock of a demon, but he did it regardless, and after an unbearably long period in which he pushed and strained and panted and sweated, he felt himself slide a touch deeper. “I’m inside you,” he gasped. He had a hand on his cock now, stroking it, sliding the skin over it, and he was agonizingly hard, and he could feel himself pulsing and twitching, and he kept making  _ noises  _ without meaning to. The demon’s cock was trying so hard to accommodate him, and despite himself, he was beginning to wonder if he could, perhaps, somehow, by whatever horrifying demon magic Arzaeus possessed,  _ fit.  _

 

The impossibly taut hole gave again, just a touch, and suddenly the rounded part of the head was in. A bit of flesh no longer than the tip of a finger, but it was  _ inside  _ the demon’s cock, being squeezed so hard it was nearly painful, the rim of the hole fluttering around it, and Squire gave a broken sob and spilled himself, his seed spilling down into the demon’s cock.

 

Arzaeus snorted. “Doesn’t take much for you, lad. But we’re nowhere near done.” He cupped Squire’s balls with two great fingers, and a spark snapped between them. Squire yelled at a brief moment of horrible pain, but then the pain was gone, and he felt as though he had never finished—he needed to spill himself again, and soon. He was desperately hard.

 

Arzaeus’s fingers moved and took hold of Squire’s cock, just below the head. He began to slide back and forth a little, moving the skin, pressing it hard against his cock’s struggling hole. “Come on, then, get yourself in. Work a little for your new cock, lad.”

 

Squire obliged and rammed forward, hard. The great, fat mass of the demon’s cock compressed a little between their bodies, the flesh forced back against the impossible intrusion, and the hole stretched just a little more. He whined at the sensation, at the feeling of  _ more  _ of himself being embraced by the hole, being nearly crushed by the strength of the cock, but  _ so good.  _ He began to work his hips back and forth, humping desperately against the hole. He knew it wouldn’t fit, wasn’t possible, but his cock was beginning to believe otherwise, and he wanted to hear the demon yell as that sweet, sweet hole was forced wider. He wanted to hear this vast, powerful creature be broken open by his cock, wanted to feel that hot, wet pressure all around himself, wanted to fuck himself into the hole, spill himself into it again and again and again until his own seed dripped out around him.

 

Then, suddenly, agonizingly, brilliantly, the rim of the head popped into the demon’s cock.

 

He screamed at the sensation. He couldn’t stop himself. He was  _ inside,  _ his cock was  _ inside,  _ the head of his cock inside a demon’s piss slit, bulging it open, being squeezed so hard he thought he might die, muscle tensing around him, straining to contain him. He thrust forward without thought, jamming himself in further, pushing harder and harder until his foreskin was inside, too, and he was halfway inside the demon’s cock.

 

Arzaeus groaned. “Eager now, lad? That’s well enough. Go on, then, see if you can’t fit all of that little cock of yours inside me.” He thumped Squire comfortably on the back with a huge hand. “Stretch me some.”

 

Squire obliged with a fierce need. He was thrusting as fast as he could, short, sharp little motions, hardly moving, but constant, exhausting, trying to hammer his way deeper inside. He believed it now, he  _ believed  _ it, he was going to get inside, he was going to seat himself fully inside of another man’s cock, make it bulge around him, fuck the ludicrously tight hole until the demon screamed and begged for his seed.

 

God, just a little at a time, each slightest successful push forward was cause for celebration. He had one hand on the demon’s huge, throbbing cock, feeling the hot, heavy flesh beneath his fingers, holding it in place as he forced his own member deeper inside. It was absurd. Sir Thryston’s cock was larger than Squire’s, sure, but it had nothing on this great red beast, this mass of muscle and exerting flesh. It flexed as he squeezed it, and he howled.

 

“You do make fine noises, lad,” Arzaeus said. He sounded amused, and unflappable as ever, as if he got fucked down his most private hole on a daily basis. “Yet I think I can extract a few more. Hold a moment.”

 

He reached down between Squire’s legs and probed, sliding a great finger beneath Squire’s balls and along the sensitive place behind them, a movement that made Squire whine. Arzaeus laughed. “Not bad. Not bad at all.” Then the finger poked up against something else, and Squire was so startled that he abruptly stopped fucking.

 

“What’re you doing?” he croaked. 

 

But his question was being answered already. The finger was squeezing up against a tight, tight ring of muscle, one that provided nearly as much resistance to a single finger, albeit one the size of a cock, as the demon’s piss slit had provided to Squire’s cock. 

 

“No!” Squire gasped. “No, please, that’s filthy, I told Thryston not to touch me there, it’s foul, _ foul—” _

 

The tip of the finger popped inside of him, and he yelled. 

 

“There’s no pleasure in it!” he cried. “There’s naught you could want, naught either of us could want, please, please, please get out, get  _ out!” _

 

But it was working further in, ignoring his complaints, his begging, sliding further and further inside, massaging him open, spreading his walls until he whined, feeling nothing but sick pressure and a burning stretch as it squeezed up to the first knuckle.

 

It prodded something inside of him, and everything changed. Something lit up inside of him, some bundle of nerves that had never been touched before and was now suddenly begging for it. He pressed himself down instinctively, no longer minding the stretch. He was distracted by the glorious, unparalleled sensation of wet heat around his cock, and the exploding pleasure  _ inside  _ of him. He was moaning on Arzaeus’s finger, working his own cock deeper inside the demon’s, making noises that he had never expected to hear himself make.

 

Then Arzaeus moaned, and his cock pulsed around Squire’s. The demon’s hips pushed forward, and suddenly, Squire was sheathed, the flared tip of the vast cock pressing fleshily up against his belly and balls. 

 

Squire cried out and spilled himself again.

 

When he recovered, he looked down. The huge, fat cock was distended around his. The bulge where Squire’s member penetrated didn’t reach so much as a third down Arzaeus’s length, but the sight was still riveting. He reached down and touched, feeling the stretched, straining tissue that was drawn painfully tight around his cock. The hole at the end was absolutely taut. No dripping slick escaped, though the muscle that controlled it continued to contract and release around Squire’s cock in a hard, wet massage that rippled up and down his length. 

 

“Good work, lad,” Arzaeus said. His voice sounded breathy now, lustful. “Now all you have to do is spill me.”

 

Squire looked up. He had to crane his head back to see the demon’s face. “Spill you?”

 

“Aye,” Arzaeus said. He reached down and cupped one of his balls. The single swollen orb overfilled even the demon’s vast hand, and when he released it, the tug of its dropped weight was like a falling cannonball. The skin of his sack was stretched taut around the twin monstrosities. “That’s how I grow your cock. Pump you full, let it soak in. You’ll be hung like a stallion before morning, lad. But you’ve got a bit of work to do before then. Now finish me.”

 

Squire took the larger cock carefully in both hands. His fingers didn’t quite meet around the middle, and he heard a little noise escape him. Then he began stroking it, and moaned loudly when he realized that he could feel everything he did on his own cock. He began stroking it feverishly, encouraging the cock to twitch and jerk and spit more slick up at him. He shook every time the cock pulsed, its walls contracting hard around him and then releasing, and his movements grew more and more frantic, and then, suddenly, he was coming  _ again, how?  _ He squirted more seed down into the depths of the demon’s cock, and nearly sobbed.

 

“You’ll need to do better than that,” Arzaeus said. He stretched a little. “Here, I’ll furnish you a hint, at least.” He cupped one huge, plush pectoral, fat and heavy as a breast, but all soft, resistant muscle, with a great hand and flicked the plump nipple. “Put your mouth on it, lad.”

 

Squire stretched his neck up and obliged, by now well beyond thought. He drew the nipple into his mouth in one move and sucked. The muscle of Arzaeus’s chest flexed hugely, swelling hard as all the softness drained away, and the demon threw his head back and moaned. The nipple twitched somehow in Squire’s mouth, sympathetic to the rest of the body, and Squire shuddered as the cock he was buried in jumped similarly. He focused all of his attention on the demon’s chest, his hands massaging and squeezing the pectoral while his mouth teased the furiously hard, fat nipple, tonguing it, sucking, kissing, moaning into it. Whenever the cock pulsed around him, he repeated an action.

 

“Oh, fuck,” Arzaeus groaned finally. “Oh, not bad at all, lad. Go on, I’ve another.” He pulled Squire’s head forcefully away and shoved it to the other side of his chest. “Go on,  _ suck.”  _

 

Squire did, hard. His mouth was tired, his tongue slow and unresponsive, but the feeling of the cock squeezing around his was far too good to stop. God, he’d never dreamed that anything could feel so hot and tight and wet around his cock, nor that anything so tight could feel so good. It was insane, and filthy, and impossible, but he never wanted it to end.

 

Then, after what might have been a minute or an eternity of sucking on a moaning demon’s sweet nipple, Arzaeus squeezed Squire’s narrow shoulders and roared.

 

_ “Fuck!”  _ The huge, fat cock pulsed violently around Squire’s, much harder than it ever had before, and Squire let go of the nipple he was servicing with a surprised lurch and looked down. The demon’s cock was jumping around his, and  _ oh God  _ something was pumping up it. He saw a great, fat bulge shoot up the shaft and hit his cock a moment before he felt it, and then he screamed.

 

“Oh God!” he yelled. “Oh, Christ!” The demon’s seed was forcing itself  _ down his cock,  _ squeezing in through the piss slit and down that hole into the root, and he was screaming and wailing and he thought he might pass out then and there. He put a hand to his balls and cried out when he felt them swell with demonic seed. 

 

Oh, God, it kept coming, shot after shot bulging the demon’s cock and pouring into his own. He could feel every drop of it as it forced its way down his shaft, into the root, down through some maze of passages until it exploded into his balls, making them quake and stretch. The skin there was already drawn tight over the two growing bulges it struggled to contain, and it was only getting tighter. 

 

“Shit,” he whispered.  _ Oh,  _ God, another one. He could really feel his balls now, each perhaps half the size of his fist and growing fast, in thick, heavy pulses. The skin was pulled smooth, and when he looked down he saw that his sack was a fierce, dark reddish-purple. He moaned at the sight, and then screamed when Arzaeus’s finger wiggled in his ass, massaging the sensitive spot there.  _ “Christ! Christ! Christ!”  _

 

“Still not him, lad,” Arzaeus laughed. “Can you feel it yet?”

 

Squire wailed. Of course he could fucking feel it, it was impossible to miss, his  _ cock  _ was in  _ another cock _ and he was being filled full of seed. Then he noticed something else and pressed up hard against the demon’s muscled belly with a moan.

 

Whatever was inside him that Arzaeus was paying so much attention to was growing. He could feel it, growing with every spurt of seed, like his balls had run out of room and this spot was collecting the excess, only that wasn’t so because he could still feel his balls growing in his hand and  _ oh God he was going to need more than one hand soon.  _ The thing in his ass was pulsing and swelling, and he couldn’t stop himself from reaching down between his balls and ass to feel, just in case, and made a noise of horrified lust when he realized that he could  _ feel  _ it bulging there, could feel the shuddering pulses of growth as it swelled inside of him, each pulse a new wave of lust. The flesh there behind his balls was pouting out, growing into a noticeable bulge. He whined, high and clear.

 

Then he started having to piss, and he knew that the seed must be going there too. He was being filled. He was being pumped full to bursting in places that he’d never wanted to be, and it felt  _ so good.  _ His balls had grown huge and heavy between his legs, hanging low, and the space behind them had grown into a rock-hard swelling, almost like a second sack, and when he touched it he wanted to cry with desperate need. Even the ring of his ass, stretched around the demon’s finger, was plumpening. 

 

When his balls touched the ground where he knelt, he nearly came again. He started kissing and sucking at Arzaeus’s nipples again, and wrapped his arms around the demon’s vast bulk as far as they would go. The beast was unnaturally hot, and Squire was already pouring sweat, but he didn’t care. “Oh, God,” he whispered between sucks. “Oh, God. More. More.”

 

“Nearly done,” Arzaeus said, patting his back reassuringly with his free hand. “Your cock will start soon, lad. Look, there it goes now.”

 

Squire already knew. He could feel the grip of the demon’s cock tightening around his own. He released the nipple he was working on to look down. He had to see. He had to see.

 

Arzaeus’s cock bulged, first at the tip, and then spreading down the shaft. The demon groaned loudly as his piss slit was stretched, the hole stretched to its limit around Squire’s growing member. Squire watched as the extent of the bulge spread beyond beyond what had been the end of his cock, and, as more and more pulses of seed squeezed in, the bulge stretched all the way to the thick, constricting ring of muscle around the middle of Arzaeus’s shaft. It stopped there, and instead of growing longer, began to thicken again.

 

Arzaeus was gasping and panting by then. The movements of the finger in Squire’s ass had grown stuttering and shaky, jabbing wildly as the demon shook and shuddered. “Oh, fuck me. Oh, fuck, going to finish soon, it’s nearly finished. Oh,  _ fuck.”  _ The half of his cock that was stuffed full was stretching, stretching, stretching, until it was nearly twice as wide as the rest of the demon’s shaft. The hole at the end was raw, not a drop leaking past the seal. 

 

The demon thrust forward so hard that he knocked Squire over, and screamed. His huge cock convulsed wildly around Squire’s, and the human cried out and spilled himself for the third time that night.

 

Unlike the other times, it went on and on, for so long that Arzaeus recovered from his own climax, pulled his cock free with a hideously lewd  _ pop _ , dropped Squire on the ground, and was halfway through cleaning himself off and stretching by the time the fountain of seed finally stopped erupting from Squire’s cock. 

 

Squire lay there, utterly drained, getting his breath back, for several minutes. It wasn’t until he saw the huge red demon crouched over him that he finally came back to himself a little and made eye contact.

 

“How do you like your gains, lad?” Arzaeus asked with a grin that revealed a maw of pointed fangs.

 

Squire dragged himself into a sitting position with great difficulty and put a hand between his legs to weigh and examine himself. His cock wasn’t a monster like the demon’s, but it was certainly bigger than most he’d seen. His balls were no longer the size of a horse’s, knocking between his thighs like cannonballs, but they were still huge and heavy—the largest he’d seen, but within reasonable bounds of human proportion. He put his fingers carefully behind him and gasped when he felt a shock of lust. He no longer felt as though he were stowing a large rock behind his balls, huge and swollen, but there was still a noticeable bulge there, sensitive, and that, surely, was not human.

 

“I can’t ride a horse like this,” he said, his mouth dry.

 

Arzaeus laughed loudly. “Not in that state, no. You’ll need to spill yourself often if you want to keep that manageable. At least once a day, more if you don’t fancy coming in your breeches while you’re riding. It’s better than what I give most of your kind. You’ll manage it.” He offered Squire a hand and pulled him to his feet.

 

“Thank you,” Squire said honestly. “I’ve the finest cock I’ve seen on a man, and finer balls.”

 

“That you do,” Arzaeus said with another booming laugh. “I’d say maids will love you, but I think you and I are both well aware that your fancies lie in other directions. Part of why I did what I did to your sweet spot back there. Fuck many men, just Squire, and if they fuck you, be ready to scream.” Then he was gone, in a twist of smoke and flame. 

  
  
  
  


Come morning, Squire was alone, lying comfortably in his tent. When he had first woken up, he’d thought that the night before had been a dream of excessive strangeness, but a quick hand between his legs had soon settled that. After a few more minutes of pleased exploration of his parts, he got to his feet and dressed himself, taking particular time to admire the way his breeches struggled to contain his bulge, and then he made his way to Whitby, where he delivered his message and received a reply to deliver back to Sir Thryston.

 

He made quick time back to Revverston, eager to see his master for the first time in years. Thryston looked at him oddly when Squire smiled brightly and put the roll of parchment in his hand, but asked no questions.

 

It wasn’t until that evening, when they were abed, and Thryston casually reached over to take Squire’s hand and put it over his parts, that Squire grinned and said, “Don’t think so, sir.”

 

Thryston stopped dead and looked up at him. “Excuse me?”

 

Squire took Thryston’s hand and put it between his own legs. “Biggest cock wins, sir," he said, unable to keep the laugh out of his voice.

**Author's Note:**

> You know, I wasn't going to fall into the trap of lame double entendre titles. I just wasn't. They're tacky and dumb and I don't like them. Yet here we are, because I can't think of anything better. Hope you all enjoy.


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